


This Time With Knives

by Arkada



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Badass Nile, Canon-Typical Violence, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, M/M, Mission Fic, More like ice cold and focused Nicky, Nicky can have a little murder spree, Nicky kills bad guys, Not exactly feral Nicky, Temporary Character Death, as a treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26301082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arkada/pseuds/Arkada
Summary: Joe gets into trouble on a mission.Nicky gets him back.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 54
Kudos: 461





	This Time With Knives

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, for once I'm fine with not owning the source material, because the creative team actually did such a flawless job with it.

The firefight lasts only minutes before the wave of militants lies dead, and Joe and Nile are victorious. The abandoned village, occupied by their targets, now lies quiescent through Nicky’s scope. Joe and Nile were swift and effective, Nicky watching from his sniper’s nest on the hill a quarter mile away, his assistance not even needed before all the targets were brought down. It is good to have someone so skilled fighting at Joe’s side, if Nicky isn’t going to be there himself. Nile has fit into the team seamlessly since her abrupt arrival, adapting to their tactics and bringing along a few of her own.

Like the earpieces they wear tonight, letting them talk to each other instead of simply _knowing_ where they are. Nicky still thinks they’re unnecessary, but it’s nice to have some company.

“See? I told you guys this would work,” Nile says in Nicky’s ear. “In and out, back in bed before sunrise - Andy won’t even know we were gone.”

Nicky does not laugh, indulging only in a small smile. The job isn’t done yet, and any sound could give away his position. Besides, he doesn’t need to answer Nile when he has Joe on the same communication channel.

“Andy probably knew what you were planning before Nicky and I did,” Joe says, just as Nicky expected him to. “Don’t think you’ve fooled her. She’s just letting you get away with it.”

“Eh, still more freedom than the military,” Nile says, unconcerned at her secret mission not being nearly as secret as she thought. “I’ll take it.”

Movement catches Nicky’s eye, and he brings the rifle around to see Joe and Nile walking out of one of the buildings. There’s a bright splatter of blood on Joe’s arm, and a few holes in Nile’s clothing, but otherwise they seem to have taken little damage. They move together, guns up and on guard for anyone they might have missed in their first pass through the village.

They’re here to end a petty conflict, a fight over an opal mine. The locals with the right to it have long since fled, leaving two groups warring for it, violence and death on both sides. Nicky and the others wouldn’t have intervened were it not that one group has connections to insurgents that Nile knows from her time in the Marines. If that side took the mine and fed the insurgents its profits, Nile’s friends could face the consequences. Nile was reluctant to admit to Andy why she cared about this particular fight, but Joe and Nicky had the story out of her and signed up right away. By morning, nothing will be left of the insurgents’ allies but ghosts.

“Ooh, that looks important,” Nile says happily, as she and Joe enter another building. “I think I’ll take that, maybe Copley can get some intel to people who need it.”

“Stay here and pack it up,” Joe says. “I’ll make sure we’re alone.”

“Try to keep quiet - if there are more of them alive, they don’t need to know we’re still… Oh, I guess you already thought of that.”

“Sound advice all the same,” Joe says, encouraging, before emerging from the building with his sword drawn. He starts to sweep the village again, movements sure and steady. Nicky keeps watch over Nile’s location, to ensure nobody approaches while she’s distracted with her task.

For a long while, all is calm. Nicky holds his focus unwaveringly, tuning out the soft sounds of the others breathing in his earpiece.

And then-

“ _Shit!_ ” Joe yells, before he’s stopped short by loud gunfire.

Nicky curses by eight saints’ names at once, and scans the village to find Joe. There is nothing, no activity, no muzzle fire, he cannot see anything-

“Nile, did you see where he went?” Nicky murmurs.

“No, there’s no windows in here, I can’t see a damn thing-”

The gunfire continues. Joe is surely outnumbered, and in trouble.

“ _Nicolò_ -” Joe gasps, and Nicky hears him die.

“Nile, stay where you are, do not lose the intel,” Nicky orders. He will not have Joe’s pain be for nothing. “I’ll find him.”

He drops the rifle, and strips off his sword as well. He can’t run with it quietly and it will slow him down; he’ll retrieve weapons from the downed militants once he gets there. He hides his gear in the barest moments necessary, and then takes off running towards the village with the most speed he can muster, and the minimum caution he can tolerate.

He has not heard Joe’s voice again, and the militants are still shooting. Shouting too, now, words indistinguishable but soaked with fear. Joe must be pinned down, Nicky can all-but see it - Joe recovering from each shot, and the militants panicking, shooting him again and again because he will not stay dead-

Nicky reaches the village and throws himself into the shadow of one of the buildings to catch his breath. He wants to push on, storm the entire village and slaughter with his bare hands every foe who so much as _looked_ at Joe. He pushes the thought aside; he well and truly knows better than to follow it. He _must_ stay quiet and retain the advantage of surprise, if he is to get Joe back.

And find some damn weapons.

Nicky crouches low and runs across to a convenient pile of bodies, and strips them for armaments. The guns are empty, but he ends up with a good knife strapped to each thigh, and two more unsheathed in his hands. It takes him only seconds, but he knows they are seconds that Joe - living or dead - is still taking bullets. Every shot is a violent, senseless burst in his ear.

Nicky strips the earpiece out and crushes it under his boot. He may not be able to see what direction the gunfire is coming from, but now he can _hear_ it.

His soul in flames and the chilling weight of sharp steel at his side, Nicky goes hunting.

_He is mine_ , he recites, approaching the source of the gunfire silently. The words are familiar and focusing. _He is mine and you’re not to touch him._

The door is open. Nicky stays low, out of sight, and leans in to take a look.

The room is crowded, both with armed hostiles and with dead ones, and furniture, knocked over in Joe’s fight. Nicky counts twelve militants still alive. Too many to have simply missed Joe and Nile’s attack earlier. This was an ambush, and Nicky’s rage burns fiercer at the thought. It is a cold fire, all-encompassing, gathering strength for the right moment to be unleashed.

Nicky cannot see Joe, but he can see which corner of the room all the militants are facing. There is a lull in the gunfire; two or three weapons click, empty. The militants jabber amongst themselves, sounding frightened and young. Their first fight, perhaps? _Their last._

“-won’t stay dead!” one of them is saying in their language, and, “Maybe this time?” from another. Then a sound as of a body dragging itself across the concrete, and a pain-filled groan in Joe’s voice, bittersweet to Nicky’s ears. Some of the militants scream, shaking hands raising their guns.

It is not a decision. Nicky simply will not have a better window than the distraction Joe has created for him.

He uncoils to his full height, strides on soft feet into the room, and has slit three throats from behind before the others begin to turn.

One opens his mouth to shout a warning; Nicky flings a knife into his eye, and has drawn its replacement before the body hits the ground. Pathetically slowly, the militants swing their guns around to face him. He ducks and rolls away from a burst of gunfire, punctuated again by a few clips running empty. If they keep this up, he’ll disarm them and barely lift a finger.

Nicky picks a target - one of the few decent shots, with a gun still loaded - and throws the second knife, this one embedding itself in his neck. Nicky draws the other spare knife, and goes after the nearest man.

Nicky’s first strike cuts the tendons in the back of the man’s wrist, dropping his arm like a stone; the next severs his carotid artery. Nicky turns to avoid getting blood in his eyes, and lets the movement carry him on to bury his blade in the gut of another man. He twists the hilt and rips it out, slicing through the stomach wall. This one is not dead, but will be in moments. Nicky lets him drop and moves on.

The eighth militant holds a knife matching those Nicky stole. Holds, rather than _wields_ , because he clearly has no idea what to do with it. Nicky kicks it out of his hand, sending it towards the ceiling. Foolishly, the militant’s eyes follow it. Nicky flings one of his knives into the man’s chest, sinking between his ribs. Nicky kicks this knife too, driving the blade in to the hilt to puncture the heart, and catches the airborne knife as it comes down again.

Four to go.

He spins away to avoid another hail of gunfire. A fraction faster, the bullets hit him anyway, striking his shoulder and lower back. He feels the impact punch deep, and the arm on that side goes numb. He grits his teeth and forces his hand to keep hold of the knife.

He is not finished yet.

One of the guns was aimed not at him, but at Joe - still hidden from Nicky’s sight, but he hears the bullets land in flesh and the impossibly soft sound of Joe’s breath leaving him again.

_Enough of this_.

That cold, burning rage sharpens. Nicky does not think anymore. He does not need to. This is his battlefield, and when Nicky fights for Joe even God will yield to his will.

Nicky finds cover behind an overturned table while he heals enough to get use of that arm back. There is a body beside him, bearing wounds he recognizes as Joe’s work. Nicky smiles as he pulls the gun from the dead fingers.

First he unloads it; no sense in re-arming his enemies. Then a gentle toss, and the gun clatters noisily against the ground several feet away. Two sets of footsteps approach, hesitant yet carelessly loud.

Nicky lets the first militant pass, his back turned to Nicky as he checks the spot the sound came from. The second steps into view, equally distracted. Nicky cuts both his hamstrings to cripple him, then cuts his femoral arteries to kill him. The militant topples, bleeding out, leaving Nicky free to surge up and bury a knife through the back of the other militant’s neck.

The blade sticks between the vertebrae. The body falls and takes the knife out of Nicky’s hand with it, leaving him with only one. No matter. He is close to the end now.

Movement alerts him; he ducks gunfire once more, with a roll that brings him closer to the shooter. It takes the man by surprise and he’s unprepared for Nicky to kick his legs out from under him. The man stumbles and falls, gun swinging wildly. Nicky drops the knife to grab the man just before he hits the ground entirely, and spins them both so Nicky can get behind him. Then he breaks the man’s neck with his bare hands.

One left.

The last militant stares at Nicky with wide, horrified eyes, his gun rising and falling to point between Nicky and Joe, unsure who he is more afraid of. Nicky retrieves the knife and rises to his feet.

“Do not shoot him,” he warns in the militants’ language. It will make no difference to the man’s fate, but Nicky does not like hearing Joe die. He does not want to hear it again.

“He won’t - he won’t die, why won’t he die-”

“Because I still live,” Nicky says, sure as the sun’s rising. “Whatever ends await us, his and mine will be in the same instant.”

“Who - _what_ are you?”

“He is half of my soul, and I am half of his.” Nicky comes closer. “Do not-”

Joe must stir. Nicky notices too late. The man fires with a shriek of terror.

Nicky hears Joe die again.

He crosses the room in a blur and shoves the knife through the back of the man’s hand. The man screams in agony and the gun hits the ground at their feet. Nicky leaves the knife where it is, and pins Joe’s killer to the wall with an arm across his throat, silencing the screaming. Nicky does not speak. His gaze does the work for him; the militant sees enough in Nicky’s eyes to know it is not Joe that he should fear.

The militant struggles, but cannot move enough to resist. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Nicky has heard these words many times before, confessions falling from the lips of sinners. But he has not been a priest in a very long time. Confessing to him does not bring absolution.

Metal rattles against the floor softly, a spent bullet falling from a small height. Joe is healing. Nicky will have to be quick.

He pulls the knife out of the man’s hand. The man whimpers relief, as if believing Nicky means to let him go.

Nicky leans in, settling his grip around the blade’s hilt. “I don’t care if you’re sorry.”

He opens the man from groin to sternum. The knife slices through flesh and muscle with ease. He pulls it free when it hits bone, and drives it upward through the man’s jaw.

Nicky turns away before the body has even hit the ground, and drops to his knees at Joe’s side. The last bullet is pushing its way out of Joe’s chest. Nicky plucks it free with his fingertips to speed its journey, and flings it aside. He cradles Joe’s head in his bloody hands, thumbs tracing the bones under his skin. 

“Come back,” slips from his lips when Joe doesn’t breathe quickly enough for him. He speaks one of their shared languages, or maybe two intertwined. “Come back to me, Yusuf, I’m here.”

Joe gasps, eyes opening, hand scrabbling across the floor. Nicky sees the hilt of Joe’s sword lying beside him, and the trail of blood that shows Joe’s desperate efforts to take it, gaining an inch with every death. Joe stops when he catches sight of Nicky, feels his touch on his face.

“Nico,” he sighs, profoundly relieved. Nicky closes his eyes for a moment that could span hours, to savor the sound of his name in Joe’s mouth. Joe takes both of Nicky’s hands in his own, and brings them to his lips.

The rage in Nicky’s heart goes out. He smiles, and nods to Joe’s sword. “You dropped something, my love.”

Joe laughs. It brings up a mouthful of blood with it, but just the one. Joe is whole again.

Nicky helps him to sit, then stand. Joe stretches stiff muscles, grimacing as his blood-soaked clothes stick to his skin. Nicky runs his palms along Joe’s shoulders, ostensibly to help relieve the ache, and truly because he does not want to stop touching him.

After another moment, Joe retrieves his sword and wipes it clean on a dead man’s sleeve. “Nile’s pissed at you, by the way.”

Nicky frowns. “What did I do?”

Joe fishes his earpiece out, and hands it to Nicky.

“Oh.” Now Nicky recalls dropping his own earpiece earlier, a sensible, tactical decision that led him to Joe. From Nile’s point of view, Nicky stopped answering any contact from her, and she would have heard nothing but gunfire from Joe’s earpiece for those long minutes of Nicky’s attack. No word of either of their survival until Joe and Nicky spoke. “I might deserve that, yes.”

Joe raises his eyebrows in surprise. Nicky twists the earpiece in.

It hurts. Nile is shouting. Nicky winces. “I’m sorry, little sister, it’s alright now-”

“Don’t you _little sister_ me, Nicolò al-Kaysani di Genova, shut the hell up and listen-”

Nicky does listen, though less to Nile’s words and more to what lies underneath them. She is angry, yes; she is angry because she is scared. Nicky has heard it many times before. Nile is more like Andy than either of them will ever want to admit.

He stays silent until she starts to wind down on her own, having said what she needed to say. It takes a little while. Nicky does not mind. He owes her at least that much to assuage the fear he caused.

“And how hard can it be to _not_ take out your earpiece, huh, tell me that!”

“I couldn’t hear where the gunfire was coming from,” he explains. “I had to take it out.”

“It has a mute button, you know!” Nile yells. “My grandmother’s better at tech stuff, God rest her soul-”

“I’m sorry,” Nicky repeats. “Where are you now?”

Nile takes in a deep breath. When she speaks, her anger is gone, replaced with a shy sort of pride. “Well, you said to protect the intel, but I also wanted to help, so… I’m sharing your sniper’s nest with this big-ass file box. Man, your rifle shoots really weird, no wonder snipers get so much special training.”

Delight spreads across Nicky’s face. “You fired it?”

“More or less,” Nile says staunchly. “You had another four coming up behind you. I took care of them. Eventually. You’re gonna need to resupply your ammo, my bad.”

“You are magnificent,” Nicky praises.

“Yeah, yeah.” He can hear her rolling her eyes, but she seems pleased all the same. “Now get your man back here so we can go, I need, like, eight showers.”

“That might impede your plan to be back in bed before sunrise. We only have three hours left.”

“Shut up and come pack your shit.”

Nicky smiles. “By your command, little sister.”

Conscientiously, he finds the earpiece’s mute button, and then turns to Joe. “Nile is ready for us to leave.”

“Good,” Joe says, and takes Nicky’s hand. His sword is drawn in the other, and Nicky grabs another knife on the way out. Confident as he is that all the militants are truly dead this time, he is not in the mood to be caught unprepared again.

Joe rolls his shoulders as they step outside. “First thing on getting back, I’m showering.”

“You might have to fight Nile for it.”

“I’m sure I will win if I have you to defend me, yes? My glorious avenging angel, striking down all those who would oppose me?”

Soft warmth rises in Nicky’s chest, as unlike the cold fire of his fury as it is possible to be. “ _Incurable_ romantic,” Nicky says, and squeezes Joe’s hand. “Unfortunately, today I think I don’t dare to cross Nile any further.”

Joe’s face takes on a caricature of the purest dismay, but he relents a moment later. “Neither would I, in your place. She was _very_ angry.”

“I had to get you back,” Nicky says simply. “I will always come for you.”

“I know.”

They cross the ground between the village and the sniper’s nest much more sedately than Nicky did, going the other way. Nile meets them there with Nicky’s rifle resting upright on one shoulder, and a large box stuffed with papers under her other arm. She looks both pleased to see them and utterly resplendent in her triumph.

“About time,” she says. She gestures at Joe, up and down, with a finger. “You have blood on your… um. Everything.”

He grins his beautiful, glowing grin at her. “Does that mean you’ll let me have the first shower?”

Nile tilts her head, pretending to consider it. “Absolutely not.”

Joe laughs, and finally sheathes his sword at his hip. “Alright, I yield. You go get the car, Nicky and I will pack up here.”

Nile glances between them. “Yeah, sure, I can leave you two alone for a couple minutes,” she says, winking, and passes Nicky’s rifle to him before heading off.

“She’s more like Andy every day,” Nicky observes once she’s out of earshot. “So suspicious.”

Joe catches him around the waist and pulls their bodies flush, Nicky’s back to Joe’s chest. “She’s right, though,” he murmurs, nuzzling the soft spot just under Nicky’s ear. “What shall I do now that the only eyes on you are mine?”

Nicky turns in Joe’s arms, rifle held out to the side, and kisses him. It is perfect; Joe’s lips are warm, his beard soft against Nicky’s skin, all as it should be. Nicky touches their tongues together, just a tap where their mouths meet, before pulling back an inch.

“You shall help me pack the gear,” he says, resolute, and steps away to start breaking down the rifle. “And then we shall get in the car and drive to our safehouse, and then we shall wait for Nile to relinquish the shower.”

“And _then?_ ” Joe asks, still flirtatious, though he moves to dismantle the sniper’s nest. “What then, my heart?”

“Well, we have at least an hour to think about that,” Nicky shrugs, before meeting Joe’s eyes and making him a promise. “And I intend to spend every minute making sure you think about it very, _very_ hard.”

Joe’s eyes shine with anticipation, and he smiles. “I am in your hands.”

“Yes,” Nicky murmurs, smiling in return. “Yes, you are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as ever due to my betas, [Haldane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Haldane/) and [Apples](https://appleslostherpassword.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Here's [my tumblr](http://ao3-arkada.tumblr.com/) if you're into that.
> 
> ~References!~
> 
> Title is from the Arabian Nights 2000 TV movie - it's just a throwaway line but I've been wanting to use it as a fic title for _ages_.
> 
> A fair bit of fight choreography lifted from Red vs. Blue (like always), and I nicked a couple of lines from them as well.
> 
> One line taken from each of Crimson Peak, Captain America: The First Avenger, and Terry Pratchett's _The Fifth Elephant_.


End file.
